Part 25

Before long there was a smart shower. Instantly all the promenaders and monkey fanciers disappeared, except the three gentlemen with the petticoats. They continued to walk to and fro on the same path; and as there was no one else left there save themselves and the little groom, they could not doubt that they were all there by appointment. They began to smile as they passed one another; it was easy to see that they divined one another's motives for being there, and that they had at their tongue's end some such words as:

"How tedious this waiting is! Gad! if it weren't for a charming woman, I'd have gone away long ago!"

Dupont had been tempted more than once to enter into conversation with his fellow promenaders, but he had not dared.

"The time wouldn't seem so long, if I were talking with these gentlemen," he said to himself; "that would divert my thoughts and make it easier to be patient; but perhaps they are not in a mood for talking."

Suddenly Edward stopped and drew his watch. Monsieur de Mardeille did the same; whereupon Monsieur Dupont walked up to them, drew his own watch, and ventured to say:

"I beg pardon, messieurs, but will you allow me to ask what time you make it? My watch may be a little fast, and I should like to be certain of the time. I say twenty-two minutes past two."

"Two twenty-two; that's my time, too," said Monsieur de Mardeille.

"Faith! messieurs, we go better than Charles the Fifth's clocks," said the viscount, after consulting his watch; "I agree with you exactly."

"Didn't Charles the Fifth's clocks go well?" inquired Dupont.

"Don't you know that that monarch, after abdicating, cultivated a passion for clockmaking? He amused himself mending and improving clocks; he had an enormous number of them, and they went so well together that sometimes, as a reward of his labors, he had the pleasure of hearing them strike twelve for a whole hour!"

They laughed heartily over Charles the Fifth's clocks; then Dupont observed:

"I had a rendezvous for two o'clock, here in this path."

"So had I."

"And I."

"But women are never on time!"

"No, never!"

"Especially when they are young and pretty; they know that we'll wait for them."

"Yes, they are too anxious to make us long for them to come."

"As for myself," said Edward, "I propose to wait just five minutes more; but if Mademoiselle Georgette hasn't arrived at the half-hour, I am going away!"

"Georgette!" cried Monsieur de Mardeille.

"Georgette!" muttered Monsieur Dupont. "On my word! this is strange; it's a Georgette I am waiting for, too!"

"And I."

"Pardieu! this is rather unique! A dark girl, medium height, but built like a Venus! And such a foot! and a leg! altogether enchanting!"

"That is the exact portrait of the person I am waiting for."

"It is the exact portrait of the Georgette who wrote to me."

"This becomes decidedly interesting!" said the viscount. "I have her letter here."

"So have I."

"And I."

"Let us compare them. Yes, it certainly is the same writing! Well, messieurs, I have a petticoat of hers here, which she left in my hands and asked me to bring back to her.--Tom! come here and show what you have under your arm."

The little groom drew near and unfolded the white petticoat; Monsieur de Mardeille and Dupont instantly took the petticoats out of their pockets, and exhibited them, saying:

"I also have brought her a petticoat."

"And so have I, as you see."

Thereupon the three gentlemen laughed so uproariously that the monkeys tried to imitate them. When their outburst of hilarity had subsided, the viscount said:

"Don't you believe that the girl has made fools of us by writing to us all to meet her at the same place?"

"I begin to think so," said Mardeille.

"And she made us come in front of the monkeys!" exclaimed Dupont. "She selected this place purposely."

"She certainly won't come; it is past the half-hour. I am going away."

"Wait a moment, monsieur; there's a lady coming in this direction."

"But she is with a gentleman."

"Mademoiselle Georgette didn't write us that she would come alone."

"I can't distinguish her features yet, for she has on a bonnet. But it isn't her figure at all. This one has an enormous funnel-shaped skirt."

"That's a hoopskirt--the latest fashion."

"Great God! how ugly she is! The Georgette I am expecting used to dress in such excellent taste! One could see how she was built."

"Still, the nearer she comes, the more I think that I recognize her."

"Why, yes, that's so! I would swear that it is she."

"It is she! it certainly is, messieurs. See, she's coming toward us! There's no doubt about it now."

XXIV

THE MOTIVE

It was, in fact, Georgette, dressed in good taste, but very simply, and wearing one of the skirts then in fashion, which transformed a woman into a sugar loaf. She was arm in arm with Colinet, who had entirely laid aside his artless, timid manner.

Georgette and her escort walked up to the three gentlemen, and the young woman bowed pleasantly to them, saying:

"Excuse me, messieurs, for having kept you waiting. It was our driver's fault, for his horses hardly crawled. Allow me, first of all, to present my husband, Monsieur Colinet."

Colinet gravely saluted the three men, who returned his salutation.

"Did she send for us to introduce her husband?" they said to themselves. "That was hardly worth while!"

"I asked you to meet me in this garden, messieurs," continued Georgette, "because I know that there are paths here where very few people pass, and where we can talk as if we were at home. I see one on the other side of these flower beds, where we shall be very comfortable; will you have the kindness to go there with me?"

The three gentlemen bowed, and the whole party walked to a path, usually quite deserted, where there were benches. Georgette and her husband having seated themselves, the others did the same, and the little groom stood at some distance. Then the young woman turned to Messieurs de Sommerston and de Mardeille, and addressed them thus:

"A few words will suffice to inform you why I acted as I did with respect to you. In the first place, messieurs, I am neither from Normandie nor from Bordeaux; I am a Lorrainer; Toul is my native place; my parents, who are poor but honorable farmers, are named Granery; I am the sister of Aimée and Suzanne."

The viscount and Monsieur de Mardeille made a gesture of surprise and their brows grew dark when they heard those names; while Dupont thought:

"What has this to do with me?"

"Yes," continued Georgette, addressing Mardeille, "I am the sister of that poor Aimée, who came to Paris, where she hoped, by means of her skill in embroidery, to be able to help her parents. As ill luck would have it, she fell in with you. Aimée was beautiful, and she caught your fancy; being innocent and inexperienced, she believed your fine speeches, your promises, your oaths--in short, she allowed herself to be seduced. A child, a son, was the result of her misstep. But you had already begun to act differently toward her, your visits became more rare; and when she asked you for the means to support and bring up her child, then you ceased entirely to see her. Ah! monsieur, a man must be very hard-hearted to behave like that. To stop loving a person is possible, I admit; but to spurn a mother who asks you for bread for her child! Oh! that is shameful!"

Monsieur de Mardeille hung his head and made no reply. Thereupon Georgette turned to the viscount:

"Do I need to remind you, monsieur, that your treatment of my sister Suzanne was exactly the same as this gentleman's treatment of Aimée? You seduced a poor girl who was innocence itself--you cannot deny it; then, after making her the mother of a daughter, you abandoned her, and, to avoid seeing her tears and hearing her complaints, you went away, you left Paris. My sisters returned to the province, in utter despair. They threw themselves at our parents' feet, with the children they were nursing; and, instead of cursing them, my parents wept with them and tried to comfort them; for with us, people don't curse their children when they are unfortunate. Isn't it more natural to forgive them? But I, seeing my sisters weep every day over their children's cradles, said to myself: 'I will go to Paris, too, but I will go to avenge them!'--I was twenty years old, I was well and strong, and I was especially noted for a resolute will. My parents tried in vain to oppose my determination. I started for Paris. Unfortunately, Aimée did not know Monsieur de Mardeille's address, and Suzanne did not know whether Monsieur de Sommerston had returned to Paris. But nothing could deter me.--'I shall succeed in finding them,' I said to myself; 'and something leads me to hope that my enterprise will be successful.'--I flattered myself that I should be able to make your acquaintance, messieurs. You know whether I succeeded.--Now, Monsieur de Mardeille, is it necessary for me to tell you that the twelve thousand francs I asked of you was for your son, that it has been invested in his name, and will be used to bring him up?--And you, monsieur le vicomte, whom I asked for twenty thousand francs, because I knew that you were a richer man, and because a girl's education costs more than a boy's--you know now that that sum will be used to bring up Suzanne's daughter, and to provide her with a dowry.--Well, messieurs, do you consider now that my conduct was so blamable? That money, with which you intended to seduce and ruin me, as you ruined my sisters, I have put to a good use. It will make it possible to bring up your children carefully; and what you would have employed in an evil action will accomplish a result that will do you honor. Tell me, messieurs, do you bear me a grudge now?"

"Faith! no," cried the viscount; "the play was well acted! You performed your part perfectly! Accept my congratulations, madame, together with this petticoat, which I hasten to restore to you.--Here, Tom! hand that garment to madame."

Monsieur de Mardeille did not seem to have accepted the inevitable so gracefully as the viscount; however, he realized that he must resign himself, and at least pretend to repent of his wrongdoing. Consequently, he said to Georgette:

"Madame, I judged you ill, that is true. I did treat your sister Aimée somewhat inconsiderately, and you have repaired my neglect, my fault. We men are drawn on by the current of business and pleasure, and are sometimes at fault when we do not mean to be. Present my compliments to your sister. Here is the little petticoat that became you so well!"

"But why am I mixed up in this affair, madame, I who never seduced any of your sisters?"

"You, monsieur," replied Georgette, with a smile--"I took you at first for an honorable, loyal man, whose arm I could accept without fear, for I was alone in Paris. I did not then know the addresses of these gentlemen, which my sisters succeeded in obtaining for me later. I wanted to go to the play and to the fashionable promenades, hoping to discover, to meet there, the persons I was absolutely determined to find."

"I understand; you used me as an escort."

"Something like it, monsieur. As for your love, that didn't frighten me. When I learned that you had lied to me, that you were married, as it was a matter of perfect indifference to me, I might have forgiven you; but you attempted to take most unbecoming liberties with me! So then, monsieur, I left you without ceremony, abandoning in your hands a little petticoat--which you have brought to me, I hope?"

"Yes, madame, here it is."

And Dupont, hanging his head rather sheepishly, produced his little parcel and handed it to Georgette. She took it and gave it to her husband; then she rose, and, with a graceful courtesy to the three men who had been in love with her, said:

"Now that I am rehabilitated in your eyes, messieurs, it remains for me only to wish you whatever may be most agreeable to you."

And, after bowing once more, Georgette took her husband's arm and walked away with him.

Her three ex-lovers looked after her, and the viscount exclaimed:

"Sapristi! what a difference between that huge funnel and the little petticoat that outlined her form so perfectly! Ah! if I had seen her dressed as she is to-day, all this wouldn't have happened!"

"Indeed, it wouldn't!" cried Monsieur de Mardeille; "indeed, it wouldn't have happened; I should still have my twelve thousand francs."

"I agree with you entirely, messieurs," said Dupont; "what a difference in her shape! And the change is not to her advantage! The idea of getting into that sugar-loaf affair, instead of letting us see her graceful outlines! Ah! madame! what a scurvy trick to play on us!"

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Naught save the true is beautiful or lovable.

[B]

How now! you say nothing! My friend, 'tis not nice of you! Once it was different, Remember, I pray you!

[C] True joys have fixed their abiding place in the fields; We fear the gods more there, and there make love more at our ease.

[D]

I saw you of late, as you worked at the pump; In you all is charming, all is true, nothing false; 'Tis then you display in your movements such grace that One would gladly be damned, if he might pump with you.

[E]

You have a saucy countenance, A graceful figure; A killing eye, a tiny foot, And piquant bearing; Your petticoat, too, I admire, And all that one divines Beneath, And all that one divines!

[F]

My candle's gone out, No fire have I; Pray open your door, For the love of the Lord!

[G] Colinet is misled by the twofold meaning of the French word _broche_.--_Mettre une broche_--to put on a brooch. _Mettre à la broche_--to put on the spit; _i.e.,_ to roast.

[H] This play upon words cannot be reproduced in English. L. says: _Je l'entends très-bien!_ But _entendre_ means to _hear_, as well as to _understand;_ so the other retorts: _Tu l'entends, mais tu ne le comprends pas;_ you hear, but you don't understand.

[I] All styles are good, except the tiresome style.

End of Project Gutenberg's Frédérique; vol. 2, by Charles Paul de Kock